The Church Guard of The Abandoned New Haven Church

Author's Note: Likes and comments would be really motivating, as writer's block has been a real bother lately. If you have any stories or ideas for me to write, comment, I'd love to try writing your ideas!

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I was glaring at a box. It was an ordinary box, brown with tape beginning to peel, but it was the two words written on the side that turned my gaze into daggers.

Leandro's Tapes

It had been a month since his disappearance, and this box had been sitting on the floor in front of my bed, glaring at me every day I woke, every time I stepped in to grab something and every time I left. Except, you see, each time, it left a different feeling.

When I woke up, I felt a pang of fear and anger because who was my older brother disappearing? Who was he to leave us?

When I glimpsed the old box when I came in, I felt a twinge of sadness, wondering why... what could have gotten him to disappear? 

When I left, knowing it sat there waiting, I felt regret and guilt. Because maybe, surely, surely my brother said something, anything at all, that would hint at him disappearing. Hadn't he joked or written, even to himself?

I was meant to be doing my math homework, though, when I began to glare at the box that sat there, peering at me from behind the bed. It wasn't too heavy, twenty or thirty pounds? I didn't dare open it, not even glimpse inside. For some reason, he wanted me to have it. Not mom. Not dad. Not Rosalie, my older sister. It was infuriating, and some nights, a part of me wanted to just light that box on fire and let that thing burn.

But right now? Jesus Christ, right now, I couldn't think about anything other than opening that thing and trying to figure out where he went.

I get up, leaving the stapled-together pages and laptop as I walk over to the box, kneeling in front of it. I go to tear the top open but stop. I stare at the words written on the side of it. The words practically sing for me to tear it open. I pull it open, though it requires barely any touch as the tape's peeled and practically clinging to the cardboard.

I stare at dozens, maybe even hundreds, of cassettes.

I stare at a letter, which lies there, with my name written on it. My hand trembles as I pick it up, my breathing shaking. Was I going to regret this? Or would I be grateful my brother left a clue?

'Dear Adrien Lazarus Nash,

I know you're probably upset, probably furious. You always have been one to get upset when people leave. Even if it's just a move or a trip, you've always been... bothered by it when people leave.

I get it. I understand now... how it feels like something's missing? I used to never understand; I used to wonder why it kept you up when one of your friends went on a trip to Disneyworld or something, a cabin in Tennessee or something? You could barely sleep when friends of yours left.

I understand now. It's been a few months since the accident at work. Everybody's been telling me that these things happen. That people get hurt. That... that sometimes, things get out. And, hell, I was so close to believing it, except the moment I almost believed, the thought that this wasn’t normal, or not as normal, slipped into my mind.

I know I’m missing now. And… I wish I didn’t have to tell you this about my job, about why I often left for work stuff. I wish you didn’t have to know, but you’re the only person I trust with this.

–Sincerly, Leandro Pierre Nash.’

I stare at the letter for a long while, staring at the neat handwriting before looking at the box full of cassettes. He never talked about his work. Nobody ever bothered him about it; he was a twenty-nine-year-old man who had enough money to not worry. He was just the average middle-class guy who never dared to mention his work. Time I would ask, he'd just smile at me, ruffle my hair, and say, "I'll tell you all about it when you're old enough." Except now I was sixteen, and only after he went missing did he dare mention what the hell he spent his days doing.

I'd gotten the cassette tape to work after many YouTube videos and cursing, and at last, it was beginning to play into the headphones I wore. I don't know why I bothered even trying to do my homework, knowing I'd spend however long I needed to just focus on the cassettes and whatever was said.

"File number 001. Title: The Church-Gaurd," The speaker, who I recognize his voice to be Leandro's, says. He scoffs. "These titles sound like something from a Percy Jackson novel," He mutters. "Okay, let's not get side-tracked. The time is... three thirteen in the morning, and it's Friday the thirteenth." He laughs a hauntingly familiar sound. "Ironic, getting such a weird job on Friday the thirteenth."

A pause, and I can hear paper rustling before a mug is set down on a table of sorts.

There's an electrical buzz-like sound for a moment before it fades, and a voice returns.

"Mr. O'Malley," Leandro's voice speaks again. He sounds awake, fully, now, less drowsy. "Do you know why you're?"

Something clinks a slight metal sound before a new voice speaks. "It was sitting there as if it were praying," The man murmurs, a particularly gruff voice to the strange mumbling. "It was fine the first time; it was like it knew."

"Mr. O'Malley," Leandro repeats, this time a bit more stern and slightly louder.

A pause and the other man must have looked up.

"Do you know why you're here?" He repeats.

"Because you think I'm insane," Mr. O'Malley says.

"No, Mr. O'Malley," Leandro says. "Because I believe everything you say. I believe you saw a being that night, and I do believe it took your friends."

Another pause.

Mr. O'Malley sighs before saying, "We'd gone because there was an old legend. About the Church Guard? You've heard the legend?"

"Of course," Leandro says. "Do you mind telling me everything? Why do you want to? What happened before, everything?"

Mr. O'Malley shifts his position, clearing his voice before saying, "We'd gone there, me and a friend, Luke; we'd gone there because we always passed it on our way from school, so we decided to see what all this fear was about, why there was a legend in the first place.

"So we went in. It was just a normal old church, y'know. Decrepit, eerie, haunted-looking. Fuck, I hated it the moment I stepped in, and I should've left, we both should've, but... I don't know; neither of us wanted to see like cowards, and running from a legend seemed pretty cowardly at the time."

"You left him there?"

"No... yes... I—" Mr. O'Malley sighs before saying, "Not at first... Not until I saw it."

"It? The Church Guard."

Mr. O'Malley goes quiet once more before saying, "We'd gone there once. There... There wasn't much that was creepy about it, I mean, beside's how decrepit it was and stuff. Bat's, y'know, the stuff that comes with abandoned buildings?" He sighs. "And, sure, some things were a bit.. weird, but not— not as horrific as that."

"What were some weird things you saw?"

"Well... the books were all blank. The bibles and stuff, anything that was supposed to have words, was blank," Mr. O'Malley explains. "And... when I was alone... it felt like something was there. Watching. I could've sworn I heard it breathing, for Christ's sake."

"It?" Leandro says, paper's shuffling. "As in the Church Guard?"

"I don't know what it was. Luke... he thought it was a kid... He..." Mr. O'Malley stops. His voice sounded close to breaking.

"It's alright, take your time," Leandro says calmly.

"You'll think I'm insane."

"Please, I want to help. I want to know anything you have to say."

Mr. O'Malley sighs. "It had been mumbling something. It was so quick and quiet that I couldn't make out what it had said. But Luke... he went closer to it, and closer... and then I understood what it said— Jesus Christ, I wish we'd both run, then and there," He says.

"What did it say?"

"It... Fuck, it said, 'Three is needed; two will suffice'," The man sounded terrified when he admitted that.

"And what happened after it said that?" Leandro asks.

The man takes a trembling breath before continuing. "It... It didn't do anything. It just kept rocking back and forth...

Back and forth...

Back and forth...

It's breathing— it almost rattled, like it was sick. And it kept whispering. That fucking whispering, it just kept doing it!"

"Did it ever leave?"

"Yeah. It did, just after. Luke looked at me and tried to talk, but the thing started to scream. I don't even know what could make somebody scream like that. And when we looked towards it, it was gone... or... we thought it was."

"It wasn't gone?"

A pause.

"Where was it?"

"It..." The man cleared his throat, shifting his position uncomfortably before saying, "We searched the whole place twice. We stayed together 'cause we both were creeped out. But we found it hours later, hours after more weird things happened, whispering in the walls, random fucking screaming. Luke joked that it could be a fox," He chuckles nervously before continuing. "And I heard it."

"What?"

"Footsteps. And when I looked behind me, where it came from, nothing was there. And when I looked in front of me, Luke was gone. He was fucking gone, and the screaming wasn't its anymore."

"It was Luke's?"

The man's breathing trembles, and I decide he's surely nodding.

"And you never found Luke after?"

"I almost passed out. And the cops sounded like a good idea after all of that. And they can't see it, fuck, they can't see it. You can't see it either, can you?"

"Can't... see what?"

"It..." The man's breathing trembles again before he whispers, "It's behind you. Christ, you can see it too, can't you?

You can see it..."

The last five seconds pass impossibly slowly, just the deafening sound of a woman screaming.